The Lost Year
by JennMel
Summary: So time reversed. The darkest year of the human race was erased for good. Only Jack remembered the time of fear, torment and death. Right? Three of his team might wholeheartedly disagree, even if they don't understand why.


Author Notes: Erm, yeah, this one sort of hit me in the space of five seconds, and then ended up being written, but hey! This is a teamfic, set after Last of the Timelords, once Jack is back in Cardiff. It is just my take on what life for Torchwood might be like after the year that never was. This is dedicated to my beta ChemicalNova, in case she needs some escapism in the months ahead :)

Disclaimer: Nope, I own nothing.

**The Lost Year**

It was strange. _Really _strange. No one said it out loud, of course they didn't. That was the one cardinal rule of working in Torchwood. No questioning. And especially with what had happened with…you know. They broke the big rule, Jack had died (quite a few times) and they had almost caused the end of the world. The less said about that the better.

But it was weird, you know? Jack, being happy. He had been like that ever since they had gotten the satellite call in the freezing depths of a whole bunch of really cold mountains, and were told that Jack was, in fact, very safe, and very sound, back in the comparatively warm Cardiff. Thinking back, it had been a bit idiotic. Why Jack would've been in the Himalayas of all places. But Saxon had just been so convincing.

Owen shivered, his eyes darting over to Ianto, who was helping Tosh with something. Every time he thought of their ex-Prime Minister, Owen's thoughts always seemed to switch to Ianto. Like something…bad…was with that, that something linked those two thoughts together. He shook his head, trying to shake off the feeling. It was just the past couple of months, all the crap. After all, he had basically had a complete crazy meltdown; they all had. That was all. They were imagining it.

But then he would remember the two Jacks. The first, the one who hadn't said a word to them after he had woken up from his long, very dead, sleep. Who had just looked at them all, with an utter belief and forgiveness. The man they all loved, trusted. The man who, okay, they could get annoyed with, pissed off with, but in the end, he was still there. Everyone has their dark spots, and the five members of Torchwood were no different.

And then there was this second, new Jack. The one who had greeted them in the hub after their little mountain excursion. The one who had grabbed each of them in turn, and held on to them as if they would melt into the air and disappear. It was a month since they had all been back, and still Jack would just randomly look at them, and grin happily. A secret happiness. For Owen, it was slightly unnerving. Jack was never that happy.

Gwen seemed to happily accept the chance. She kept mentioning that whole 'doctor' philosophy. She didn't find it odd. But then, she hadn't known Jack as long. And she had also all but completely moved on from the last hellish year. Torchwood was Torchwood. As far as she was concerned, that was as weird as it got.

But Owen knew he wasn't the only one. Toshiko and Ianto kept looking at Jack strangely too. They noticed the change, and they also seemed to catch the really odd feeling that sort of hovered over the past two months.

"Owen?" The Torchwood medic practically jumped out of his skin as his boss' hand came to rest on his shoulder. Jack raised an eyebrow, "You okay?"

Owen blinked away his thoughts, pushing aside the complete weirdness of Jack asking if he was okay, "Yeah, fine."

Jack raised a disbelieving eyebrow, "You look tired. All of you do." He pointedly drove his gaze into all of the Torchwood members, "Look, nothing much is going on, so why don't you all go home? And that includes you Ianto. You get to sleep too, you know, once in a while." He cut off the Welshman before he could form a legitimate protest.

And once again, Owen was struck by the strangeness of the whole thing. Nevertheless, they were all sent off in their separate ways, to their separate homes.

But the strange feelings that followed Owen, that haunted Ianto, and that crept over Toshiko did not leave. They never did. And as with every night they went home, they would become trapped in their own private nightmares. So insubstantial that upon awakening they would only seem like shadows against the wall. But they were there.

But…this night was different. It was like the day meant something. This exact date. Which was ridiculous, because you only live the same day once, right?

And so when Owen sat bolt upright in bed, screaming at a Ianto who was being torn apart, when Ianto lost all the breath in his body as his dreams became memories, and when Tosh awoke with tears streaming down her face as she cried out for help that would never come, because the man that they trusted never came back, it never seemed odd to the trio that they were getting dressed in the middle of the night, and going to work.

Ianto lived closest to the hub, and so he was pacing back and forth, not knowing what to do with himself, and certainly not wanting to wake up Jack, when two of his teammates came through the doors. Tosh ran up and threw her arms around Ianto's neck, and Owen wasn't far behind, wrapping his arms around both of them. It didn't seem strange. It didn't seem to cross any boundaries, because in their nightmares, all petty hates and rivalries were long gone, replaced by a need for them all to survive. Together.

After what seemed like an age, they separated. Owen was the first to speak, his voice drawn and croaky, "Last night, I saw… I mean, it was real. But it couldn't have been…I don't…"

"Me too." Tosh nodded, her arm still fixed around Ianto's waist, reassuring herself that her friend was alive, "I know it wasn't real. It didn't happen. Those things…" Her voice constricted, doubt and impossibility cutting off her words.

Ianto didn't really need to add anything except, "I know."

Owen shook his head, his breath coming unevenly. Tosh took his hand. His gaze flicked between the two of them, "Saxon…"

"The Master." Both Tosh and Ianto corrected him in unison. And then blanched. Neither knew where that had come from.

Owen ran a hand through his hair, keeping the other hand in a tight grip with Tosh's, an indescribable knowledge that he was supposed to have the answers for them rising within him. In a sort of unspoken agreement, they all moved over to the sofas and sat down, Owen and Ianto framing Tosh. "Gwen. She doesn't…"

Owen shook his head, "No. I don't know why it's just us."

Ianto bit his lip, "Is any of this real?"

The question hung in the air like lead. No more words were spoken. Gradually, Tosh began to fall asleep, warmed by the strangely familiar sensation of being close to the two guys. Ianto's head soon slipped to rest on her shoulder, and finally, just before dawn, Owen succumbed to the sleep of his friends.

Jack found them in the morning, curled up, their bodies unconsciously positioned defensively, protecting themselves from a foe that thankfully would never exist. He had heard them the night before. Their confused, unfinished words. Words they would not, could not, speak to Gwen or him. He sighed, grabbing a throw from the opposite sofa and gently resting it over the sleeping trio. He had been watching them all closely since he had gotten back from his travels with the Doctor. Gwen had seemed fine, but he still kept a closer eye on her, if only for her naïve tendency for getting into trouble. But these three… They had been his responsibility for a much longer time, each broken in their own way. And he had left them alone for a whole year – he had extinguished the question of how much of that year they actually survived very early on.

And now it seemed that somehow, impossibly, they remembered. And that just wasn't fair. Gently, he brushed a strand of hair out of Tosh's face. They didn't deserve those memories. Hell, no one did.

It was the Rift. A rift of time and of space; a rift that practically embodied things like paradoxes and inconsistencies. That was, of course, the only explanation. The three of them had worked right on top of the damn thing for a few years now, since the beginning. They had been his first recruits, along with Suzie. Gwen hadn't spent enough time with Torchwood to be particularly changed by it, but these three had. Not enough to completely remember every detail of the year that never was, but enough to be haunted by it.

But like he had said to the Doctor, they were his responsibility, and he refused to abandon them ever again. The Master may have taken them away from him for a year, but the fact remained that he had abandoned them in the first place, when they had really needed them. He had been given a lot of time to think over that little gem in those three hundred and sixty five days.

A movement at his shoulder made him turn. Gwen, eyebrow raised, a smile playing over her lips as she observed the three sleeping forms, curled up in a mess of limbs. When Jack's face yielded no explanation, she silently made to go and make them all some tea.

Jack unconsciously folded his arms. How the hell did he end up being responsible for the four of the most reckless, smart to the point of idiocy, damaged human beings?

He smiled slightly, sitting down on the opposite sofa next to Gwen to wait for them to wake up. How did everything in his life always end up leading back to the Doctor?

**FIN**

Author Notes: Feedback is really appreciated! I love to hear what people think!


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